The mountain winds howled through the wilderness, carrying the pungent stench of fire and panicked screams echoing down from the peak of Black Eagle Mountain. A corner of the sky was dyed a brilliant, bloody red; a massive pillar of black smoke billowed toward the heavens like a dark dragon roaring in fury. Black Eagle Stronghold, the impregnable lair and Iron Eagle's greatest pride, had now transformed into a gigantic torch illuminating the night.
At the foot of the mountain, within a dense forest, Iron Eagle and his more than two hundred subordinates were madly pursuing a blurry black shadow ahead. Rage had completely clouded Iron Eagle's reason. He had only one single thought: capture the old man who had humiliated him alive, and tear his body into ten thousand pieces.
"Chase him! He's right up ahead!" Iron Eagle roared, the black iron eagle claws worn on his hands gleaming with a cold light under the moon.
But just as his words faded, one of his most trusted subordinates, the Third Hall Master, suddenly pointed toward the mountain peak, his voice trembling with terror.
"B-Big Brother! Look! The stronghold... the stronghold is on fire!"
Iron Eagle froze, spinning around. The moment he saw his lair sinking into a sea of fire, his pupils shrank. The frenzied rage in his eyes was instantly extinguished, replaced by panic and a chill that ran straight down his spine.
A trap!
This was a trap!
He had been fooled! The enemy was not just one person! Attacking the stronghold, leaving behind a name—it was all just to lure him, the fiercest tiger, out of his den!
"Not good! Return to reinforce! Quickly!!!" He roared, no longer having the mind to pursue Uncle Sword. He turned his head, running madly back the way he came. The over two hundred bandit minions also panicked, abandoning their formation and fleeing after him.
But the road back was no longer a safe one.
Just as they ran into a narrow valley flanked by cliffs, a figure wearing silver armor and wielding a longsword stood silently, blocking the way ahead. The aura of the late Qi Condensation Realm radiated outward, as steady as a boulder. It was Ly Tin.
"Someone from Duke Dingguo's Estate?" Iron Eagle gritted his teeth. "Just you alone, and you dare block the path of my Black Eagle Stronghold?"
Ly Tin said nothing. He only silently raised his sword.
"Kill him for me!" Iron Eagle, having lost all patience, commanded.
Over twenty vanguard bandits roared, brandishing their sabers and charging forward.
But right at that moment, from the cliffs on either side, a calm voice—yet carrying a deadly, undeniable majesty—suddenly rang out.
"Whoever dares to cross this line shall be killed without mercy."
Uncle Sword!
It was unknown when he had appeared on a high crag, the wooden sword in his hand pointing lightly at the ground. An invisible stream of Sword Qi shot out from the tip of the blade, carving a deep trench across the path, right at the feet of the bandits.
The entire Black Eagle Stronghold group halted in terror. They looked at the line of Sword Qi, then at the ethereal old man on the crag, a fear stemming from the very depths of their souls rising within them.
"It's you!" Iron Eagle roared, his eyes bloodshot. "You dared to trick me!"
"Trick you?" Uncle Sword laughed faintly. "As the art of war states, 'All warfare is based on deception'. You stupidly fell into the trap yourself; who else can you blame?"
"Don't waste words with them!" Ly Tin shouted from below. "Today is the end of the Black Eagle Stronghold!"
Saying so, he waited no longer. His body shot forward like an arrow, the longsword in his hand drawing sharp, cold arcs of sword light. His swordplay was not flashy, but incredibly practical; every move was a killing technique tempered on the brutal battlefields.
"Ah! Ah!"
In just a few breaths of time, three or four bandits had been struck by Ly Tin's sword and collapsed to the ground.
"Kill! Kill them all for me!" Iron Eagle had gone completely mad. He knew that today, it was a fight to the bitter end—either the fish dies, or the net tears. He swung his eagle claws, charging straight toward Ly Tin.
But he had forgotten that up high, there was an older, far more formidable eagle.
The moment Iron Eagle charged out, Uncle Sword also moved.
He did not jump down. He merely stood on the crag, raised the wooden sword, and slashed downward.
It was a slash that seemed incredibly casual.
But a silver-white arc of Sword Astral-energy, over ten zhang long, carrying a Sword Intent so terrifyingly sharp it seemed capable of rending space itself, descended from the heavens. It did not aim for Iron Eagle, but slashed directly into the center of the minions' formation.
"BOOMMMM!!!"
An earth-shattering explosion rang out. Over thirty bandits standing within the range of that Sword Astral-energy, before they could even utter a single cry, were cleaved into a rain of blood by that razor-sharp Sword Intent. The earth was split open, revealing a deep, elongated chasm.
One sword, thirty men extinguished!
The entire battlefield descended into a deathly silence. All the remaining lackeys stared in absolute horror at the scene before them, their legs trembling uncontrollably, utterly devoid of even a shred of courage to fight.
Iron Eagle was also stunned. He was a Foundation Establishment cultivator, but he knew that such a terrifying sword strike was something even he could not possibly block. This person... just what sort of sacred existence was he?
"Now," Uncle Sword said, his voice as cold as ice, "it's your turn."
He gave Iron Eagle no chance. His body blurred, vanishing from the crag.
When he reappeared, he was right in front of Iron Eagle. The ordinary wooden sword in his hand right now seemed to have transformed into a peerless divine weapon.
"No!!!"
Iron Eagle let out a final roar filled with despair. He swung his eagle claws, intending to risk his life in a desperate, final struggle.
But it was all too late.
A flash of silver light gleamed.
Uncle Sword's wooden sword, as gentle as a passing breeze, brushed past Iron Eagle's neck.
All sound ceased. Iron Eagle stood frozen in place, his eyes bulging, filled with endless disbelief. Then, a streak of bright red blood slowly appeared on his throat. His massive head slowly slid off, dropping to the ground with a "thud", blood splashing everywhere.
The headless corpse of the Stronghold Master of Black Eagle Stronghold remained standing for a moment before collapsing, fresh blood spraying out like a fountain.
The leader was dead. The remaining minions completely broke down. They threw away their weapons, kneeling on the ground and kowtowing to beg for their lives.
The hunting net had finally closed.
On a high crag in the distance, three figures quietly observed everything.
Lam Vy and Trinh Cong were so profoundly shaken they were left speechless in the face of Uncle Sword's terrifying power.
Only Tran Kien kept his face calm. But in his heart, a massive wave was surging. He knew this was only the beginning. Black Eagle Stronghold was merely a hunting dog. The old wolf, Marquis Vinh An, in the distant capital, was the true enemy.
He gripped the matte black saber in his hand tightly. The road ahead, no matter how many stronger enemies awaited, he would never retreat. Because he knew, he was no longer alone.